


Anchors

by sweetpca



Series: The Soulmate Series [1]
Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, California, Clubbing, Couch Sex, Drunk Sex, Drunken Confessions, Drunkenness, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Multi, Oral Sex, Riverdale AU, Riverdale Drabble, Romantic Soulmates, Secret Crush, Slow Burn, Soulmate-Identifying Marks, Soulmates, Sweet Pea Imagine, Sweet Pea's POV, Wall Sex, older!fangs fogarty, older!riverdale, older!sweet pea, riverdale imagine, southside serpents, sweet pea drabble
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-30
Updated: 2018-06-30
Packaged: 2019-05-30 03:00:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15087539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sweetpca/pseuds/sweetpca
Summary: based on an age-old cliche about being born with a tattoo only your soulmate has. fogarty and sp move down to cali on their bikes at age twenty five for a hard earned summer vacation, where sweet pea conquers his greatest fears by diving right in, head first.





	Anchors

**Author's Note:**

> this is the first installment for a five part mini fic written in sweet pea’s point of view! the soulmate series is something I decided I wanted to do a few weeks ago while clearing out my inbox. I had a lot of requests for soulmate au’s that I never got around to writing, but that I loved. And for the first time in weeks, I was able to write something that just flowed naturally - no pushing, no overthinking, no picking it apart. in between BO and MD chapter updates, I’m hoping to be releasing more headcanons and one-shots, but I find myself drawn particularly to this style. it’s given me a little more freedom, and is also going to be reader-insert centric (apart from anchors, of course).

My entire life I had envied other people. Not the ones that gained fortune or fell into good opportunity within the town’s borders, but the ones all over the internet, living what they claimed to be “their best life.” I didn’t envy them because I lived in a trailer, or because I ate ramen more often than I cared to admit. I didn’t envy their bleached hair or branded apparels, I didn’t envy their love life or their success.

 

I envied their freedom.

 

Particularly those that lived on a beach. Not necessarily in a beach house, but just spent what appeared to be all of their time laying in the sun, walking barefoot on warm sand, and swimming in crystal blue waters. For as long as I could remember, my favourite part of every summer had been when Gabriela would bring Fogarty and me up to her trailer in her hometown upstate. There was a lake, and I spent all of my time on the beach or around in the marsh. It probably wasn’t entirely safe to swim in, and the whole campsite was a complete shithole, but at five AM when everyone was asleep, and the sun finally had begun to rise over the treetops in the distance, there would be a gentle fog that danced across the surface of the still water. Nothing but crickets and loons to be heard.

 

This water reminded me so much of everything that I typically wasn’t. Still, calm, and inviting. Even at such a young age, it had always felt as though there was something embedded so deeply into my wires that I couldn’t shake the shakes. And once it gets going, it’s difficult to overcome. My skin feels as though it’s on fire, I become restless, and my mind races at a million miles a minute. But being here, with this water, settles me.

 

I had never been to a real beach and had yet to experience the gentle crash of the waves as they chased after feet along the shore. Fogarty had promised someday when we had our bikes, and the parental advisory was no longer needed ( _not that we listened to Gabriela much to begin with_ ) we would ride to Long Island and camp out on the white sand beaches. We were older now, so we rarely went upstate; due to financial circumstances, Gabriela sold the trailer the summer before tenth grade. We were sorta bummed about it, mostly because we had planned to bring friends up every other weekend for unsolicited fun. The new lifestyle we had acquired didn’t leave much room for child-like shenanigans, so we had opted to spend all of our free time in his garage.

 

It wasn’t that I didn’t like spending time with Fangs. Sure, I would have preferred sitting in an air-conditioned room that summer, or down by the docks with the rest of our crew. But if Fogarty wasn’t interested, then I wasn’t interested. That’s just how it worked. Well, for the most part, that’s how it worked. When I joined the Serpents, I put him in an awkward position. He hadn’t wanted to give his mother a reason to worry and had mentioned once or twice he wasn’t confident he was ready to follow in the footsteps of his dad.

 

I had to remind him that it didn’t have anything to do with his dad. He was looking out for Gabriela, giving back to her what she had given him for so long. Once he turned sixteen, he had wanted to take on more responsibility in the house. He helped with her bills, started to become handy around the house to save on the cost of repairs. Surprised was an understatement when I had swung by before my first trial and found him half-hidden beneath the sink.

 

He eventually found his way; it was the summer Jason Blossom died that Fogarty finally earned his skin. It had been a difficult choice for the both of us, but it had been a necessary one. For him, it was a means of protection and security. To ensure his mother would be looked after should anything happen to him. For me, it had been because of a tattoo on the underside of my elbow that had me terrified of uncertain fate.

 

There were those of us that fell in love naturally — some frequently, some less intensely than others. And then there were those of us who had been hand-picked by Fate herself for true love. Some called them soulmates, some preferred the term twin flame. In any sense of the word, the idea of having a perfect significant other hand-picked for me by some unknown and unseeable force seemed, to be frank, like a load of utter _bullshit_.

 

In spite of that belief, I was still reluctant to venture into the world in fear I might come across her existence and be royally fucked for the rest of my life.

 

Being here in this town, being as devoted as I was to the Serpents, to the lifestyle, it held me here. It grounded me, or, at least this is what I hoped. It had given me something to believe in, that gave me a reason to stay.

 

Not many people in my life knew about the tattoo; out of all of my friends, Fangs had been the only one to happen to find out about it, and I had the boys locker room to thank for that. While I saw it as a curse, he saw it as a new opportunity. He had in passing wondered if the curved lines of the inked wave were the reason why I loved the water so much. “It must  be,” he reasoned excitedly, “It all makes sense now.” Fogarty had this idea that the water had been symbolic to my temperament. The more massive the wave, the bigger the storm. The more emotion. That much like the water that stretched from shore to shore, deep, vast and full of untouched crevices, I too was unstable and unpredictable.

 

Of course, Fogarty had always been one for the theatrics. But on some level, I knew that something bigger and unknown existed. Something controlled everything, whether it be a God or Destiny, or even Fate, the idea that my life wasn’t something I had complete and utter control over was deeply unsettling.

 

But how I ached for the water. Like an anchor was tethering me to the infinite world of something unknown. Something terrifying, yet exhilarating all the very same. Of all the things in the world I wanted to experience and wanted to explore, it also happened to be the one place I feared the most, and for what? A myth I wasn’t even certain existed? Would I let the mere idea stop me from going to where I yearned to belong? What if I didn’t like her?

 

That was a valid question.

 

Was it going to be an automatic attraction — would I be her idea of perfection, would she be mine? Or would there be some law or force of nature that would hold us together, even if we completely despised each other?  

 

The numbers for those of us with the tattoos was already slim, and I hadn’t come across another person in Riverdale with one. All of my life, I had spent countless hours staring at the ink embedded into my skin with wonder and uncertainty. A sort of nervousness, if you will. My achilles heel would always be my inability to connect with others on an emotional level; I was always known for simply feeling too much, or not enough. There was no balance, there was no in between. A soulmate couldn’t change that.

 

A soulmate wouldn’t change that.

 

When we turned twenty-five, we packed lightly and moved down to California for one summer. The dream had always been to road trip through the west side of the USA. Along the shores, and chasing the sun. This had always sounded great, and everything appeared to be fine until Fogarty passed out from dehydration and my skin began to feel raw and sore from overexposure.

 

The cooler weather being the more practical choice; we soon compromised and agreed to try again in the fall.

 

After a long day of window shopping and moving furniture, Fangs indulged in a second dinner while he watched a movie, and I decided to go for a jog to pull the last of my energy from my body for a fresh start in the morning. It had been a cleansing ritual of sorts, a routine I had gotten into in my high school years. The way some cleared their closet, or rearranged their room, or put a little more time aside for some TLC, the end result was the same.

 

As soon as my heel hit the pavement, I was off. Mind, stress, all of the nervousness of the move seeming to melt away with every stride I took. Lungs burning for more air, heart thunderously beating in my chest, these sounds brought me far more peace than any lyric ever could.  It had never been in my nature to plug a set of earbuds in, I had never wanted to be disconnected from the world around me. There were some of us that believed it had to do with the survival instinct and others that thought it was merely a preference. There was something about the sound of my own breathing that was so grounding to me, I never bothered to try and explain it. I just ran.

 

And just like an anchor, I was pulled from the streets of our neighbourhood into the town, and then down to the docks. The sun had begun to set on my second day in my new home, and I was delightfully surprised to see sand stretching for miles on end. While completely harmless, it was still unfamiliar and unventured territory for me. Then I felt the same fear that had been eating away at me for my entire life. A twisting in the pit of my abdomen that caused me to take staggering steps away from the shore, and retreat back to where the dock led to the city. It was crushing. And overwhelming. And despite my lungs filling to the brim with the salty air and cool breeze that came in off the ocean, I was petrified.

 

I did this twice a week, for the first three weeks; I watched children scream as they ran away from the water that chased them up the shore, I watched dog walkers come and go. Convincing Fogarty to join me hadn’t been particularly difficult. The idea of half-naked bodies lounging on the warm sand and running along the shore was more than enough to pull him from the near-permanent indentation he had created in our brand new sofa.

 

This particular Tuesday, Fangs joined the team that had assembled for beach soccer, and I was seated in the sand under a palm tree. It was close enough to everyone else I didn’t feel completely isolated, but it wasn’t exactly like many people wandered out this way. Admittedly, my friends had always had an easier time making friends than I had. Fangs was incredibly laidback, and that made him easier to approach. I understood the nervousness people had towards me; there had been a time I had thrived off the power it induced for me. It had been damn good to be a King, if only briefly; to have that kind of influence, that sort of reputation.

 

Of course, reputations follow you. And while I was a King, I cannot say with certainty I was a very good one. Being wired the way I was, it inspired bad decisions. It bred chaos. It _craved_ destruction. I was so angry all of the time, and I didn’t even really know why I was angry. Maybe it was the prejudice the town had for the Southside, or for the Serpents in particular. How that never stopped. How we were seen as a bigger nuisance than the Ghoulies at some time, how we had endured violence, incrimination, and war. It seemed that no matter the problem, we were the cause.

 

And Hiram Lodge? He was the judge, jury and executioner. There were days the name would boil my blood to the point I felt like I was going to burst out of my own skin. To think about all of the things he had taken from us, the things he had done, the lengths he had gone to. I still believed it was some personal vendetta and not merely an inconvenience. But at the root of what appeared to be most of the problems in my life, I found myself growing that much more hateful whenever it became blatantly obvious he was the reason.

 

That had been years ago. I had grown as a person, it had taken me a while to believe, but I was capable of change. The anger wasn’t entirely gone. It existed, only now I had acquired the necessary steps to bring myself down from that kind of high. How long and _if_ it worked was circumstantial to the situation, or my mood in general. Because of this, Fogarty often referred to me as the Bert to his Ernie. It didn’t take people very long to get under my skin, and my friends had taken advantage of that weakness on numerous occasions.

 

Still, a part of me yearned for home. I missed my trailer, but the room I had back in the apartments they had built on the Southside was much nicer. I missed fishing down at the docks, I missed splitting a bag of chips with Bo on Sunday nights when I went to buy my smokes for the week. Summer in Riverdale was nothing like the summer here. The entire city was full of bright colours and string bikinis. The nightlife was everything I had anticipated it would be. But nothing could beat lining the bed of a truck with tarp and filling it with water. Nothing could beat spending every free day down at the quarry. There was nothing quite like summer in Riverdale, but for the most part, I was getting better at being okay with missing it.

 

With each passing day, I became more comfortable being here. I knew my neighbourhood like the back of my hand, had accepted a job offer as the head bouncer, for the nightclub down the block from the apartment ( _which, on more than one occasion, has proved to be incredibly useful for Fangs and I_ ), and met Maggie. She was the barista that made my coffee every morning, and while she wasn’t the type of woman that initially would grab your attention, she did have a dazzling personality.

 

My head knocked back, cheek and ear sore and burning from the hard impact of the checkered ball that rolled a few feet ahead of me into the sunlight. I lifted my glare from the ball towards the perpetrator; Fangs and a group of girls stood gaped behind one of his newly acquired friends. Head was tilted to the side, lips lifting in an almost smug grin as Mikey called out, “Would you mind?”

 

I glanced towards the ball again, sitting upright with an exasperated sigh and an annoyed roll of my eyes. Simply for having not acknowledged he had fucking **_hit_ ** me in the face with a soccer ball, I took a moment longer than necessary to contemplate the effort of getting up to retrieve the ball.

 

“C’mon, _Dylan Mckay_. Get off your ass and toss the ball back in.” he huffed impatiently, hands coming up to rest on his hips.

 

“Don’t be a jerk, Mikey.” My eyes darted sideways to view the brunette that stepped forward, her eyes disapproving. It was the tone in her voice that piqued my curiosity — it was sweet, light, and held a certain twang.

 

I let out a snort, pushing up onto my feet, brushing the sand away from the backside of my shorts. At this point, Fangs had stepped forward to knock his friend back, muttering something under his breath as I bent over to grab the ball, then launched it forward. The impact met his chest first, the force sending him backwards as the wind knocked from his body.

 

After taking a moment to collect himself, Mikey insisted he was fine and begrudgingly retreated back towards the shoreline to resume the game. I dismissed Fogarty’s anxious expression, bringing a hand up to caress my tender cheek. “Oh, that looks awful nasty.” Surprised by the closeness of the voice, I jumped back and glanced down at the rather tall figure that had come to stand next to me. “Gimmie a sec, I have somethin’ that’ll help.”

 

“Uh,” I felt my brows furrow together, holding a hand up as a decline, “I’m okay. Not the worst my face has been through.”

 

I watched her expression falter the slightest, but she recovered quickly with a shrug and offered another smile, “Figured I’d offer. In future, I suggest just rollin’ with it — I usually end up gettin’ what I want, anyhow.” she dismissed as her hips swayed back and forth, “I’m Amelia, by the way. You’re SP, right?”

 

Confused, I nodded slowly and squinted up at her, “How long have you known Fogarty?”

 

Amelia shrugged, shoving her hands into the rear pockets of her jean cut offs, “Oh, I don’t.” she admitted sheepishly. “They just needed an extra set of legs for the game.”

 

Unconvinced, my lips pulled into a smirk, and I laughed once, “So, you just happen to know Mikey?”

 

She joined me on the sand, rubbing her hands together to get the sand off of them as I lifted my eyes towards the beach again. “Mikey’s my neighbour.” she sighed quietly, resting her folded arms on her knees. “Real big pain in the ass, but he makes the best pulled pork sandwiches, so I don’t complain much.”

 

I lifted my eyebrows in a sort of mutual understanding, mouth pulling into a scowl as I appraised Fogarty. I hated his love for chocolate cake and everything frosted with vanilla icing. I hated how he loved carbs more than he loved red meats ( _or vegetables, for that matter_ ). His body had a naturally high metabolism, and he was already a pretty beefy guy, so he never had to worry about what he put into his mouth.

 

I didn’t have the same luxury.

 

“Dunno if pulled pork is really a good excuse for shitty attitude,” I mused in response, cracking my fingers and wrists. “Is he always this intolerable?” I asked as I peered down sideways at her.

 

Amelia shrugged once after a short consideration, “Not always,” she admitted with a faltering smile. “But he has a good heart, and it’s in the right place, I think he just gets a little too caught up in himself sometimes. That’s all.”

 

I lifted my eyes over to where Mikey moved strategically in between his friends, ball rolling forward on the sand towards the makeshift net. He reminded me too much of someone from home I couldn’t quite put my finger on — but like Fangs had reminded me on numerous occasions since he started spending time with Mikey and his friends, “We’re here to make the most of this vacation, okay? Not sit on our asses in the apartment playing with ourselves.”

 

It was a tasteless pep talk, but it had evidently kicked my ass into gear. I had secured a job at Starlight as one of the bouncers, hoping that the time away from Riverdale would give me some time to gain a little perspective. I had a business degree and hadn’t any idea of what to do with it. Prior to leaving for the summer, I had been working as a bartender and helping balance the books. Fogarty had been the one to suggest using my strengths to my advantage — it was way easier to be angry and have a job that permitted utilizing that anger in it’s benefit than being angry and not having an outlet to de-stress.

 

I had only worked a handful of shifts, and while I had never previously found having Fangs in the same room while I was working an issue before, it was very clearly an issue now. Each shift he waltzed in with Mikey in tow, their group piling into one of the booths we had reserved upstairs, consuming copious amounts of alcohol — then, they would leave Fogarty outside alone until I was finished for the night. Some things never changed, I guess.

 

“I heard y’all moved down here from New York,” Amelia interrupted my thoughts, her dark hues intently watching the waves as they crashed against the shore.

 

I felt myself nodding, stretching my legs out in front of me with a quiet groan, “Riverdale isn’t exactly known for its white sanded beaches, or diversity.” I explained, leaning back on my palms. “We needed a change of scenery, that’s all.” That hadn’t been a total lie — Fangs was having a hard time recuperating after his breakup with a long-term on-again-off-again girlfriend, I was trying to keep myself from going utterly insane. It seemed with each passing day that I grew more restless, and at one point I had found solace in belonging to something in that godforsaken town.

 

Tiredly, I rolled my neck and peer down to where Amelia sat. Her wild curls had been pulled back with a clip that barely did the job, and her sun-kissed skin was slick from the humidity in the air. Truthfully, she was quite adorable. Her nose was dusted with summertime freckles, neck flushed from the heat of the day. I pulled my sunglasses down from my head and settled them onto her ears carefully, her body freezing to keep her perfectly still until I was finished. “You’re squinting.” I explained casually.

 

“Uh huh,” she nodded, peering at me from over the top of the glasses. “Lemme guess, you’re worried about me getting premature wrinkles?”

 

I felt my brows raise in amusement, glancing sideways at her teasing smile before I knocked her arm with mine and jumped up onto my feet. “Cornea’s are pretty delicate, and often overlooked.” I stated matter-of-factly, appraising her still sitting figure expectantly, “Well?”

 

Amelia’s brows shot up, chin tucking into her chest as she looks around, “Well, what?”

 

“They’re short a player,” I jerked my thumb over my shoulder to where the game ensued, “And it would be _awfully_ rude of the both of us to sit all the way out here, alone.”

 

Noticing the lighthearted tone I had dipped into, she slowly stood on her feet and allowed her head to tip to the side, “No, it would be awfully rude of you to sit out for _another_ game.” she retorted, shouldering past me towards where her bag had been left. Confused by her words, my legs trailed along behind hers, “They’ve been coming out here for, what? Three weeks? You haven’t joined a single game? Do you suck or something —”

 

“I don’t suck,” I interrupted with a scowl, glaring down at the back of her skull as she navigated in between bodies relaxing on their towels and bed sheets.

 

She paused briefly at her cooler, pulling a lightly frosted bottle from the ice that had melted on the inside, “Are you ashamed of your body?” she continued, watching me expectantly as she cracked the seal on her beverage.

 

I licked my lips, “What are you getting at?”

 

“You don’t come swimming with us,” she started, holding up her thumb in a count of one. “You don’t play soccer, you don’t come to the bonfires, you don’t really even hang out with us — Fangs spends more time with us than he does with you. I figure it’s gotta be a you thing, right?”

 

Annoyed, I braced my hands on my hips and squinted out towards where Fangs had fallen backwards into the sand, pulling the petite blonde he had been pining after down with him. “Bold assumption.” I lamented after a few moments of silence, unwilling to meet her eyes. “I don’t play nice with others.”

 

“How’d you meet Fangs, then?” Amelia wondered, taking a seat on the white sheet she had spread and held down with various bags and coolers.

 

I brought my arms up to fold over my chest, body overheating under the black fabric. “He doesn’t count — I dared him to eat an orange crayon because he swore it tasted like the fruit. I think he’s been hellbent on making me miserable ever since.” I replied sourly.

 

“Right, and the matching tattoos?”

 

Feeling my brows furrow once more, I looked down to where she sat, “Matching tattoos?” I repeated, watching as her eyes settled on the left side of my neck that was covered by the double-headed serpent strategically shaped into an ‘S.’ I lifted my hand to touch the outline, still able to feel where the scarring hadn’t healed despite the many years I’ve proudly bore the symbol. “Oh, _that_.”

 

“Is he like,” she sunk back onto her elbows, tilting her face to the sky as she stretched her bronzed legs out. “Your boyfriend or somethin’? Some sort of cult y’all are apart of?”

 

I couldn’t help but snort at her question, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jeans with a shake of my head, “Close, but not quite,” I laughed, watching the feigned disappointment pull her lips into a mock frown. “We don’t sacrifice to some God, or whatever.” I amended teasingly, deliberating on whether or not I would join her on the blanket she had laid out.

 

“ _Hey, Mckay!_ ”

 

The hair on my arms raised instantly at the voice, snapping my head to glare over my shoulder to where Mikey stood, holding the ball on his hip as he waved his arm over his head. They were still short a player, and it no longer appeared as though Amelia were interested in being defense. Thinking back on her previous questions, I pulled my shirt from over my head, tossing the warm fabric towards her face before I began to jog towards the group.

 

This is the furthest I had been out onto the beach since I had found it my second day here. My heart was still thundering in my chest, ears rushing with blood as I joined my friend’s side. I hadn’t even realized how far out I had drifted until the cool breeze from the ocean misted my hot features and soothed the burn on my shoulders. I breathed deeply through my nose, glancing only momentarily over to where Amelia braced up on her hands, sunglasses perched on the tip of her nose as her lips lifted into a sweet, triumphant ( _albeit proud_ ) smile.


End file.
